Mine Beyond Midnight
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: The Goblin King dreams of unspoken wishes as he lays waiting for death to claim him. JS. Drabble-ish sort of thinger.


_AN: I don't really know what the hell this is, but take it for what it's worth. It's just some descriptive jabber and it isn't very good. But, I still kind of like it... Meh._

He slept in fits and starts, as he always did. Day faded into night, the difference between the two was wholly irrelevant. The end, he had heard them say, was nigh. The truth was he was glad for it. The very idea of having to face another day, night, whatever, giving orders, absolving orders, signing scrolls that he could no longer decipher, filled him with silent grief. Let me sleep, he begged internally. Let me sleep forever. Let me dream. Let me dream of her. Night faded into day, day to night.

He saw her then, approaching the Great Gate in easy strides. Her black hair was knotted at the base of her skull, exposing the cool, pale nape of her neck. The gown she wore was exquisite; tumbling skirts of royal blue brocade, dragging along behind her with no will of its own. She stood for a moment in silence, surveying the gate with sharp, bright green eyes. The colour contrast between her eyes and the vibrant blue of her gown was almost jarring and had only made the whiteness of her skin all the more stark. In any other case, this figure would be difficult to look at, so extreme was her colouring, but he found that he could not tear his eyes from her.

She reached out and pushed the gate gently, watching with no great surprise as it fell open for her. She glanced around and thought carefully about her next step. Left or right, up or down. She had all the time in the world. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds in the moonlight as she chose right. She walked forward with easy strides once again, pausing every so often to press her hand against the wall. The walls told lies and she knew it. The walls were soundless protectors of secrets, secrets she'd only begun to understand.

He watched her back, porcelain perfection stark against the criss-crossed blue ribbon, a fabric cage in which she was enclosed. She turned suddenly and faced the wall, her hands sliding lovingly along the damp bricks, the corner of her lips upturned slightly, almost mischievously. She pushed hard against the wall. It gave in, groaning momentarily having forgotten how to move for all its years of stillness. His eyes followed her as she weaved around the opening that the wall now provided her. She slid deftly down the pathway, her trailing gown giving the impression of gliding.

His eyes skimmed down her back now to her trailing skirts. Exquisite though the gown was, the girl seemed to give no thought as to its cleanliness. She dragged it carelessly through mounds of fairy excrement sending clouds of the sparkling material flying through the air behind her. To the human eye, it was beautiful, mystical, magical. To the eye of those who know better, it was merely a spreading of filth. He knew better, and yet he too found it beautiful. Her bare arms were covered in it; it had infiltrated her hair. He should be disgusted, he knew, and yet he felt it leant the air of _belonging_.

The path she had chosen, she had chosen wisely. It led her, with speed and ease, directly to the castle in little more than an hour. As she reached the Goblin City, she stopped in her easy tirade and tread lightly towards that gate. He imagined that the memory of her last encounter here was still fresh in her mind. Cautiously, she peered under the helmets of the sleeping guards. Satisfied that they were not aware of her presence, she pushed the gate. It fell open for her just as the Great Gate had and she walked forward with muted confidence. The sleeping city was completely unaware of her presence and her eyes brightened with some unidentifiable emotion as she approached the castle.

He watched with his inexplicable omniscience as she pressed her small, white hands against the door. She stopped there for a moment, her face shielded in shadows, and then he watched the shades of light play across the lines of the muscles in her shoulders as she pushed with all her might. The door gave just enough for her to slip in before it came crashing down behind her. This was the first time that she had shown any indication of awareness towards her billowing train as she reached back to pull it inside the door as it swung shut. She stood perfectly still, her eyes closed, and she breathed in deeply, 

reverently. He could almost believe that she was real, that she was honestly here. But, just as he knew the truth of the bright, reflective shards of light weaved throughout her dark hair, he knew that she could not be here. It was not only unlikely, but also improbable. Most likely impossible.

She opened her eyes, green windows to her soul, burning with a fire he could never capture. He realized now the folly of his obsession all those years ago: he didn't want to capture it. He should never have tried. It wasn't his to possess. She moved slower than she had throughout the labyrinth, dragging her fingertips along every surface she came across. Every so often she would pause and close her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips delicately, as though she were remembering some event occurring at this exact spot. Then, she would begin moving again. She moved as though nothing could rush her, as though she savoured every second of her very existence.

She touched each curve of each brick as a blind person touches the face of their lover: searching, remembering, enjoying every familiar detail in a way that only touch can provide. For a moment, he felt as though he were invading some private, intimate ritual of hers. Despite this, he could not look away. After tactilely observing the ground floor for some time, she moved on to the large staircase behind the throne room. Leaning her back against the banister, she paused again, as though remembering something personal. He felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of her imagining something personal on _his_ staircase. He certainly wasn't involved in whatever it was...was he?

Certainly this was a dream and he had had many before which were similar. Always, always they ended when the clock struck twelve. Strangely in this dream, he had no contact with her. Why, just the other night, day, whatever, he had held her hand and leaned in to kiss her on that very step where she now stood. Wait. Had he? His mind was fuzzy now and he fought consciousness desperately to remain asleep and watching her in the darkness. What difference did his past dreams make now? Dreams are just the fodder of broken wishes. Simply put: the remnants of that which reality cannot provide us with. He could pretend that it was him that she remembered so fondly, even if in his heart he knew this was a lie.

She continued up the steps, but her pace had quickened. He noticed, too, that her eyes jumped from side to side. She was frantic, desperate. He'd seen this look on her face before, many years ago when so much more than she even realized had been at stake. But, he could not, even with his apparent omniscience, determine the cause. She ran, tripping over the brilliant blue brocade, which piled heavily around her ankles. At the top of the stairs, her eyes betrayed her. She'd never been here before. She was afraid and very alone. What horrors awaited her here she could not know. She glanced over her shoulder at the staircase behind her and bit her lip. Resolutely, she returned to the dark hallway before her. Her arms were outstretched before her, groping in the darkness for something.

Wordlessly, she continued. He knew where she was, just mere steps away from his bedchambers. She however groped in pitch blackness, desperately feeling the wall for some semblance of familiarity. It now occurred to him that this was why she had lovingly drawn her fingers along the walls below. But, how had those walls, once sheathed in darkness, become illuminated to her? He didn't know. Her hands slid from the wall to the warm, heavy oak door of his bedchambers. Her breathing, which had become as frantic as her fumbling through the hallway, slowed considerably and she allowed herself to slowly feel the door beneath her fingers. She sighed and he could almost hear her.

He was dragged back to consciousness cruelly by the loud cracking of the door being opened. His eyes opened, an admonition hard upon his lips. It died immediately. Fairy dust billowed about her and she was stark against the blackness of the room. For a moment neither spoke and then her voice, strong and unyielding, broke the silence.

"I...you're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King."

He wanted to answer in the negative. He wanted to tell her that the Goblin King was on his way towards death. He wanted to cover his head with a sheet and go back to dying, but he found that he couldn't. Her eyes were burning the life right back into him. He didn't respond and she seemed to take this as an invitation to approach.

"Don't!" he cried, his voice reaching a note of desperation which shocked them both. He didn't want her to see him wasted in his bed. She was startled, but her face softened. She continued to approach him. "Sarah."

She smiled easily and he cowered in his bed, hiding from the unforgiving light of the moon. The shadows hid all weaknesses.

"You need me," she stated simply, at last respecting his wish for her to halt. She gripped his hand in hers and warmth seemed to spread throughout him. He hoped against hope that it wasn't his heart hoping again. She could destroy him with her green eyes and this was, after all, just a dream.

Again, she smiled and gently raised his hand to her lips. "It's after midnight," she said, as though it would hold some meaning to him.

He frowned. "Midnight?"

Her smile deepened and she nodded, holding the back of his hand against her cheek. Her skin was hot against his; he could feel the blood coursing through her veins. It was a very real dream tonight, was it not?

"I knew I'd find you, eventually," she continued. He wished he had some idea as to what she was talking about.

"And, here I am," he replied, his voice gaining strength with each syllable uttered. His mind was clearer now, he could comprehend his current state: filthy and rotting in his royal bed. She'd come back to him. She was here. She was now. She was everything.

He nodded suddenly, a warm smile stretching across his face. The muscles of his face were not accustomed to such an action and protested as such. He ignored it, no, in fact, he revelled in it. He was _feeling_. "I need you."

"I know. I've known for a while," she said softly.

It was achingly clear now, this little test. For a man who had never admitted to needing anyone, the greatest matter to overcome was to live without.


End file.
